The day broke, hot and calm. In the little farm-houses That are scattered here and there in that rolling country Of oak and rail-fence, crooked creeks and second-growth pine, The early-risers stand looking out of the door At the long dawn-shadows for a minute or two —Shadows are always cool⁠—but the blue-glass sky Is fusing with heat even now, heat that prickles the hairs On the back of your hand. They sigh and turn back to the house. “Looks like a scorcher today, boys!” They think already Of the cool jug of vinegar-water down by the hedge.